His eyes closed. “It rained the whole of the time, but we saw all the sights, and the place never seemed dull. Oh dear!—how sorry I am I ever left Wych Street. “I wish he had,” she said. In doing this, he chanced to raise his eyes and half fancied he beheld, shaded by a pillar at the extremity of the western aisle, the horrible countenance of the thief-taker. From the freshness of the stains, which grew more frequent as they approached the adjoining chamber, it was evident some violence had been recently perpetrated, and the carpenter's own blood froze within his veins as he thought, with a thrill of horror, that, perhaps on this very spot, not many minutes before his arrival, his adopted son might have been inhumanly butchered. A short flight of steps brought him to a dark passage, into which he plunged.
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